Twist, fold, twist and fold again. Kathleen Le Fleur had done it a million times before and had every reason to think she’d do it a million times more. Her hands were dry from hours of working with those long, colorful sculpture balloons, creating an endless parade of dogs, bunnies, and flowers of various primary and secondary colors. Twist, fold, twist and fold again.

Another cute kid looked up with another broad smile, the spring breeze pushing through Central Park, making the hot sun bearable. Kat was never short of amazed at how children were drawn to the simple art of balloon twisting—little inflated sculptures taking life right before their eyes. It was a magic trick done just for them—the rare event of witnessing the creation of something artistic and wondrous. It wasn’t much, but she was glad to be able to bring just a little magic into their lives. She knew how little of that there was to go around in the adult world they’d be entering soon enough.

Too soon, she couldn’t help think, and not nearly for the first time.

One little girl looked up and asked, “Can you make me a horsie?”

“Poof,” Kat said with a swirling, pointed index finger, “you’re a horsie.” A few chuckles rose up, keeping the kids happy while they waited in line. The classics always hold up, she thought. Still, Ben should be here on this job, or one of the crew. I’m a founding partner!

But the realities of running a small business in the Big Apple were only a distraction. Kat had at least another dozen kids to twist balloons for, and she hadn’t even done her magic act yet. The clown makeup was holding fast, and the floppy hat was comfortable enough, but there was still another party at four, and she had to keep things moving.

There was no time for rest, no time for any real fun of her own. Kat was there for the kids’ fun, and she knew that, and she enjoyed it. But she couldn’t help but think about how little fun her own life had become, how the majority of her day was filled with a jam-packed schedule and plenty of hard work.

Not far away, the Matthews family were drinking beer, laughing and enjoying their time away from their own children. Sad, Kat couldn’t help think, they’re not taking pictures, not sharing the experience with the kids at all.

Then the faces of the kids grabbed her attention, smiles melting away. She could see they were looking past her, to something or someone behind her. Kat spun and her heart jumped.

The homeless man was standing too close; the stink of urine, body odor and bad hygiene was sudden and overwhelming. Kat took a single step back, the children behind her. He stared at her with graying eyes and a nearly toothless mouth, brown beard grimy and stringy. He looked her over—pretty and shorter and shapely—a tasty prize for any predator. But she’d been in New York too long to be that vulnerable, and the first thing she did was keep her wits.

“Um, this is a private party,” she said, careful to make sure there was no fear in her voice as she quickly finished on one child’s horse. She handed it to the homeless man and went on, “Here ‘ya go, this is for you. Bye now.”

The homeless man took the balloon, but his eyes were fixed on Kat, and she knew what he was thinking.

“Hey,” a familiar man’s voice said behind her, “Get the hell outta here, pal!” she turned to see beefy, balding Hank Matthews pushing through the kids and charging the homeless man, his fists clenched, ready to do their ugly business.

But Kathleen didn’t want the kids to witness such a beating, especially since it wasn’t necessary.

Yet.

“Hold on,” she said, “take it easy.” She pulled a few dollars out of her pocket and gave it to the homeless man, shoving it into his other, empty hand. It was caked with a dark film, hard and thick.

“Don’t do that,” Hank said, “that only makes it worse. These people are a curse on this city, and I don’t want them walking up to kids’ parties and pullin’ this crap!”

“It’s okay,” she said trying to calm the situation. “At least he’ll go away.” She looked at the homeless man in front of her, their eyes locking. She could see the pain buried in his eyes, lurking in his soul, tormenting him. It wasn’t anger that led this man, but loss, and that was something Kathleen understood all too well.

He looked back at her and he seemed to understand. They were different people and coming at life from different places, but they were each human, both living, both vulnerable to the same dangers, the same pleasures, the same risks, and the same wonders.

He let out a great scream and lunged at her. Hank Matthews was too far behind her to be effective. The homeless man was too quick to dodge away from. But Kat’s training was too good to be forgotten, and her instincts sharper than anyone else there. Her arm jutted forward in a flash—before she even realized—the flattened ball of her hand smashing into the homeless man’s sternum. There was no crack of a broken bone, but the man stumbled back in breathless shock, dim eyes wide and round. The kids raised a shocked gasp, and the surprised Hank Matthews stared at her with an open mouth, posture leaning forward.

The homeless man turned and stumbled off, Hank much more interested in Kat’s quick thinking. “Whoa, that was…that was…whoa!” She smiled and shrugged, but didn’t want to make anything more of it. He looked her up and down, eyes fixed upon Kat’s blond hair tucked under a floppy hat. “How’d you learn that?” Hank inquired, still blown away at her intuitive reflexes.

“Classes, like most people.”

“Wow, that’s…wow.” Kat smiled and turned back to the kids, but Hank went on, “Hey, um, what are you doing after the party? You wanna maybe stick around; maybe we have a little party all our own?”

Should have known, she told herself, forcing a smile. “Oh, sorry, but I’m not allowed to date clients.”

He shrugged, shoulders beefy under his NYFD T-shirt. “Who’s not lettin’ ya?”

“My boyfriend.”

The big man looked her over, shaking his head. “That’s…all right, well, whatever, that’s…whatever…” Kat watched him walk away, but couldn’t ignore the glares from the disheveled homeless man from the nearby park bench, brooding and sinister. Hank’s seemingly endless supply of beers started disappearing faster and faster, but by the time she finished her performance and collected the fee, somebody with a calmer head was talking to him behind a hemlock tree, so she was able to slip away.

* * *

Mitchell Jarvis’ voice was small and metallic coming out of Kat’s smartphone, and it had his usually distracted tone. “Really? The guy didn’t come back?”

She shook her head, even though Mitchell couldn’t see it, and crossed Fifth Avenue toward the subway. But she did take a glance around to make sure the homeless guy wasn’t making a timely reappearance. “No, thank God he didn’t throw a fit in front of the kids.”

“Sounds like he did just that. So glad you took those lessons, Kat.”

“You and me both. How’s the writing coming?”

“Um, well, it’s coming right along. I’m reading through my latest draft. I think it’s just about ready to send out.”

“Oh, that’s great, Mitchell. Does that mean you’re free tonight?”

“God, I wish!” he said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “But I’m on a deadline with this one, and I’m not sure it’s gonna have the polish it’ll need. Can we make it tomorrow night instead?”

“Sure, tomorrow’s all right,” Kat said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

After a little pause, Mitchell said, “Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that. You know how much my work means to me. I pour my soul into my writing, it’s my legacy—”

“No, I get that, Mitchell, I really do, and I’m proud of you.” Kat enjoyed the little smile which crept over her face. “I like being a big-time writer’s girlfriend.”

Mitchell coughed up a little chuckle. “Big-time writer. They don’t even know my work in Hollywood at all. If I could get a movie deal, then we’d be talking the real big time.”

“Maybe we’d be talking about…other things too?” she insinuated.

Mitchell sighed into the phone, the full measure of his tiredness filling those little metal speakers. “‘Kat, c’mon, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know we have, Mitchell. I think maybe it’s time we talked about it again. Don’t you want to take things to the next level?”

“Of course I do, Kat, you know I do.”

“I know you say you do,” she countered.

“‘I mean, it’s just a weird time right now, publishing’s changing—”

Kat rolled her eyes. “What does that have to do with us moving in together? Really, we’d both be better off money-wise. And life is going by, Mitchell. I’m coming up on thirty years old.”

“And you’re at the prime of your life,” Mitchell said. “We’ll talk about it more tomorrow. Be at the cabin around seven?”

The cabin, she repeated silently, always with the cabin.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come into town, just to try it out? Maybe it won’t be as bad as you remember.” A protracted silence passed between them, as if the rest of New York was still moving right along around her, but Kat’s own world had suddenly ground to a halt.

Again.

“‘Kat, listen, I just don’t wanna keep having this conversation.”

“I know you don’t, Mitchell, and neither do I. But, I mean, you’re a grown man, you’re a successful author. Why not come down to the big city, just for a night? I’ll protect you, I promise.”

“It’s not about safety, Kat, it’s about … y’know what? Forget it, you obviously don’t understand.”

“Well, no, Mitchell, I really don’t understand,” she said, finally agreeing with him.

“Because you’re not an artist, okay? I’m sorry to have to put it that way, but you’re a party clown—”

“Pfff.” she scoffed. “I’m a business woman, competing in one of the most challenging cities in the world!”

“Yes, yes you are, and I’m very proud of you—”

“Don’t patronize me, Mitchell—” Kat maintained, standing her ground.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But what you don’t get: it’s the energy down there, negative energy. It’s not just the crime and the traffic and the filth, there’s just something about that place, I … I can’t take it, Kat, not for an instant. I thought you accepted that.”

It wasn’t hard to see what he was talking about; it had always made sense to Kat. And when she’d just been attacked by a homeless guy in the middle of the day during a crowded birthday party, it was even harder not to agree.

“I do, Mitchell, I do.”

“That’s why I live up here, where it’s clean and beautiful—the lake right here. I thought you liked it up here—change of scenery, fresh air…”

"I do, Mitchell, I really do. It’s just that, well, weekends are my busy time; it’s hard to get away.”

“I thought you let your partner handle it when you weren’t around?”

“I do, but he’s got auditions, and for plays those happen on the weekends—”

“He’ll manage,” Mitchell muttered.

“If he’s a real artist, you mean?”

Another little silence slithered between then. “Okay, I’m sorry about that,” Mitchell said. "I was wrong. But that’s what just the thought of coming into town does to me, y’know? I-I can’t breathe, just thinking about it…”

“Okay, Mitchell, take it easy, you’ll have one of your attacks.” Kat glanced around, the subway beckoning her—a short train ride to bring her back to her apartment in Brooklyn. There was little choice; no matter which direction she turned, she knew where her destiny was. There was nowhere to go but forward.

And down.

He asked, “See you around seven?”

Kat took her first step into the darkness. “Yeah, see you then.”

* * *

Jackie Adams shook her head, hazel eyes rolling behind her milk-chocolate complexion. “Oh my God, baby, you have gotta get outta that business, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“And do what? Your line of work?” Kat’s face grimaced.

“Don’t make fun,” Jackie said, waving her roommate off and taking a sip of white wine. “P.S.O.’s make a lot of money. You could do it too.”

“Pretending to have sex on the phone isn’t my idea of making a living.” Kat chuckled at the thought of herself in that role.

“You pretend to play with kids in a park,” Jackie sassed.

“I don’t pretend. I actually do play with kids in a park, or at their houses, or wherever. Plus the singing telegrams, corporate parties. I’m running my own company!”

“But I make five times as much!” Jackie revealed.

Kat shrugged, turning to stare out the window. Brooklyn was stretched out beyond the fire escape, clotheslines stretched out between the old tenement buildings. “That’s just not me, Jackie.”

“Well no, of course it isn’t! Kat, it’s about…it’s about not being you, y’know what I mean? It’s about you being somebody else—role play, fantasy! You’re a party clown, you can’t tell me you’ve lost your sense of whimsy!”

“I just don’t think being a phone sex worker is very whimsical.” Kat chuckled.

After another sip of chardonnay, Jackie leaned back in the overstuffed easy chair. “It’s whimsical, sure, and fantastical. It’s light and it’s dark; it’s fun and it’s a little mean. But that’s the way life is, right? What’s so wrong about giving these men a little vacation from their daily lives?”

“Some women consider it cheating.”

“That’s for them to decide,” Jackie said. “But I don’t know that any of my clients are married; I don’t have a clue about them and I don’t wanna know. It’s none of my business. I don’t have sex with any of those men.”

“Yes you do; it’s phone sex, that’s in the name: phone sex operator.”

“But it’s phone sex, not actual sex. You don’t see the difference? They’re having sex with themselves, I’m just…talking to them while they do it. I don’t touch these people or meet them or anything.”

“If you did, would it make a difference?”

Jackie gave that some thought, setting her wine glass down, and crossing the little living room to put her hand on Kat’s shoulder. “Luckily, that’s not something I have to worry about.”

* * *

Ben Clark pulled the big Scooby Doo plush costume out of the closet, shaking his head. “I’m a co-owner of this company, Kat—”

“I know that,” she said, looking around Ben’s tiny studio apartment, filled with stacks of head shots, costumes piled in the corners, DVDs cluttering the shelves. The place smelled of mildew and pot smoke. They’d talk about that around the costumes, but Kat didn’t want to bring it up yet again with Ben in such a testy mood. “But we made a deal, Ben; I cover for your auditions, you wear the big wool suits. I’m not tall enough to be Scooby Doo anyway.”

Ben smiled, his thick, red beard curling up with his knowing grin, “We could dress you up as Daphne; that’d be pretty hot.”

“Knock it off, Ben.” They’d had that conversation before, and she was anxious not to relive that one either. “You know, both of us together would be a pretty dynamite team Kat. I mean, we’re already business partners and all…” Kat knew where things were headed and cut him off before he could go on any further. “It’s not about you, Ben. You know things between Mitchell and I are good. I don’t wanna mess that up.”

“Um, okay, I-I get that, I do. But…what if they start going not-so-well?”

“We’re business partners, Ben; you said it yourself. If things went wrong between us, it would ruin all that,” she said, being as sensitive as possible. Ben nodded, slumping back to the closet to pull through a few more costumes. “Hey, Ben, don’t be like that. You know how important you are to me. We’re like brother and sister… I know that may not be what you want to hear, but…well, that’s how I feel. But, y’know, that’s the way I feel…only.”

“I know, I do, I get it. You don’t have to keep telling me.”

I should hope not, she wanted to say, but didn’t. “Okay, so let’s get these to the dry cleaners.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Ben, I’m happy to help,” she offered.

“I said I got it, okay?” The snap of tension was thick in the air, Kat and Ben sharing the echoing silence before she said very calmly, “Okay, sure. Thanks for taking care of that for me.”

“It’s my business too.” He declared.